


What Footballers Want

by madridog (FakeCirilla9)



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Banter, Bromance, Comedy, Crack, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Language, M/M, Polish National Team
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:48:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23367973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FakeCirilla9/pseuds/madridog
Summary: A story about the truest ship within the Polish National Team
Relationships: Grzegorz Krychowiak/Wojciech Szczęsny
Comments: 13
Kudos: 6





	What Footballers Want

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hierbabuenita](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hierbabuenita/gifts).
  * A translation of [Czego pragną piłkarze](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21504568) by [madridog (FakeCirilla9)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FakeCirilla9/pseuds/madridog). 



> As you can see, I don't need much encouragement to write stuff :D Enjoy this silly story ;)
> 
> Some notes that may make reading easier:  
> Grzegorz Krychowiak, Grzesiu, Grzesiek, Krycha - that's all names, petnames and nicknames of one person;  
> same for Wojciech Szczęsny, Wojtek, Wojtuś, Szczena;  
> and Bartosz Bereszyński, Bartek, Bereś

Grzesiek doubled over and Wojtek was about to run and see if anything happened. After all, a concussion wasn’t such a trivial matter and here he got another hit to the head. And Grzesiu was still curled up in pain, although through the splayed fingers of hands shielding his face he followed the referee with his eyes and when he saw that the man doesn’t give a shit about the action nor his show, he straightened up without any problem. Wojtek halted because there was absolutely no sign of suffering on Krycha’s face. Quickly, instead, there crept a grimace of anger.

“You motherfucker!” the midfielder started towards the player in blue, who turned around, surprised. “Yes, you, you dick! Don’t you fucking look how you play?! Did you have to fucking kick me so hard?! You’re supposed to hit the ball, not the players! You son of a bitch, you bladin syn-”

Then the string of curses went on in Russian. The player of the opposite team begun to fall into battle stance himself, because, though he may not knew Polish nor Russian but as a Slav, he recognised the pan-Slavic roots of cusses. Besides, Krychowiak’s tone of voice left little doubts about the sense of his words.

Wojtek, observing the whole situation, wondered if he should come out of the goal. The captain was also turning towards the commotion. Luckily, the referee got there first and cooled down the atmosphere with a yellow card before Krycha managed to start a fight.

***

After the match, of course, there was no sign of the afore dander. Wojtek’s friend was behaving normally once more. That is, Wojtek did not think Krycha to be normal according to general standards, but once again he was his normal self: the smug idiot.

“Aren’t you playing too long for the Rooskies?”

“No, why?”

“Because you start to swear like a Russian.”

“That’s just my linguistic talent. Wherever I go, I pick up the country’s mother tongue immediately.”

“Yea, sure. Strange that I’ve never noticed.”

“In bed, I use French,” Grzesiek added, serving Wojtek far too much information.

 _Oh no, you will not buffalo me, you asshole,_ decided the goalkeeper firmly.

“You and using French,” he scoffed, “I guess only for kisses with tongue.”

“Sure with tongue, but not only kisses.”

“Holy fuckers, who do I have to play with,” Góralski, who sat on the bench beside them, made a facepalm.

Szczęsny saw the opening just as clearly as before a goal kick and used his friend mercilessly.

“Jacek, why are you so intolerant? After all, football is about, respect, ball connects us etc.,” he went on, observing Grzesiek’s mien, “regardless of sexual orientation. That Krycha played in PSG and, how the French’s saying is, what’s standing to your lips*…”

Around them, a few chuckles sounded. Someone of the growing group of bystanders cheered. Krycha couldn’t stay behind.

“Szczena, how is it that you know French so well in that aspect? Wife’s away, so you make out in a different way?”

“Some men, unlike others, can stay faithful. They don’t need to-”

“During the entire season of the league?” Grzesiek interrupted, raising his eyebrows in mock surprise. “There are special pills for such problems, you know?”

“Yes, you surely know them very well, don’t you?”

“Guys, maybe you’ll just move to your room?” mister captain himself stopped the exchange of shots. All eyes turned at him. There was an atmosphere of tense anticipation among the gawkers. Perhaps Robert did not mean to take the stage but he continued valiantly nonetheless, “to take this flirt there? You know, to resolve some of that sexual tension.”

“In private and not before the eyes of the entire team,” Góralski seconded him.

Grzesiek took a look at faces around him, from amused to shocked in the youngest. _To hell with that, if have fun, then let’s have a full fun._

“If so,” he took Wojtek’s hand in his. The goalie was too off-guard to protest the gesture, “Your loss, gentlemen. You could have porn for free.”

**

“Damn, Krycha, I’ll kill you, you fucking wanker,” Wojtek blurted out in corridor already, as soon as he got his voice back.

“And who’s swearing now?”

“Do you realise that you’ve just fucked up the rest of our stay here? Did that Slovene knock you so hard that you’ve lost the rest of your little mind? There’d be no end to jokes at breakfast time…”

“Oh, come on, you’re exaggerating,” Grzesiek shrugged, “It won’t be so bad.”

**

It turned out to be worse than Wojtek foresaw in his blackest assumptions. And they didn’t even have to wait till breakfast the next morning. It started the same evening already. Thiago caught up with them in the corridor.

“Hey, guys!” he threw something at Wojtek and the goalkeeper caught it on autopilot.

“We thought you would need that.”

Behind Cionek, Zieliński and several other players cackled.

With dismay, Szczęsny realised he’s holding a package of condoms. He threw it back to the idiots.

“No, thanks, you keep it.”

“But unprotected sex-”

“Exactly,” Szczęsny grinned in a pretended smile. “It would be of much greater use to you. Even if now it seems improbable, don’t worry, you will get your first lay eventually. Keep it for good luck.”

Krycha laughed, so did the group at the end of the corridor. Wojtek hoped that this time they laughed at Thiago.

**

“Hey, what are doing, I’m watching this!” Krycha protested as Wojtek went to switch off the blaring TV.

“These are music videos.”

“Yea, so?”

“Zero plot?”

Grzesiek blinked, his expression remained unchanged.

“Oh, right,” Szczęsny gave up, “that’s something just for you.”

“What’s your problem with it? Cool music. Atmospheric.”

“Atmospheric music and texts about sex. While from the corridor and from behind the two walls the guys are listening.”

“Give it a break, you overreact. If you keep up the drama, I’ll really start thinking you have a crush on me.” Krycha raked a hand through his hair in a practised, seductive motion and sent him a kiss.

Wojtek grabbed the nearest cushion and threw it at him. Unfortunately, the soft bullet did not cause much damage and Grzesiek stole his pillow to that.

“Give it back to me.”

“No.”

“Hand it back.”

“Shouldn’t’ve threw it at me.”

Wojtek rose, determined to retrieve his property. Krycha slid it under his back, not willing to part with the spoil without a fight. Wojtek went at him and tried to wrench the pillow free but Krycha stuck to the bed firmer than to the turf after a tackle.

At the moment when Wojtek straddled Grzesiek, striving to slide at least one palm under his back, and using the other to hold down the hampering hands of his friend, the doors to the room opened.

“Oh… fuck. I only wanted to borrow Nin…” Bereś stammered. “I thought you were jesting earlier. Sorry.”

Bartek fled the room without looking at them. Wojtek glanced at the dishevelled Grzesiek underneath him and at the moment their eyes met, both erupted in laughter. Wojtek rolled onto the mattress next to Krycha.

“Well, fuck.”

“We’re fucked indeed,” Grzesiek agreed.

**

At the next day, the topic was still hot.

“How’s the night together, lovebirds? Have some of the blue pills left?” Thiago’s offended honour came into play.

Before Wojtek could stop the stupid jokes in some sensible manner, Krycha brought them both down.

“Even without them, we managed marvellously. Ask Bereś.”

Bereszyński dropped his fork.

“Don’t bring me into this.”

“What? Have you seen them? Seriously, man?” Piszczek’s interest was picked.

“And you’re jealous? Should’ve join yesterday and not now p-”

Wojtek had enough of standing idly by. He grasped Krycha at the waist and pulled towards himself, away from the circle of his admirers/mockers.

“And who said I wish to share you,” he pecked Grzesiek on the neck and had a satisfaction of seeing a trace of blush under the stubble.

***

Krychowiak paid him back during the morning meal yet. When he brought him a coffee, Wojtek idiotically took it for a sign of goodwill. He should have suspected a scheme all along. Selflessly kind Grzesiu screamed swindle from afar.

“Maybe not Italian but I made it myself.”

“Pressed the coffee express button you mean.”

“I just said. Like it?”

Wojtek took a sip without even peering at the content of the cup. Grzesiek knew him well enough to know what coffee he drinks. All the more he was surprised when instead of ordinary black he felt cappuccino. He didn’t have time to express his displeasure, however, because Krycha was presently reaching across the table.

“Wait, you’ve got something here.”

With a tissue prepared beforehand, Grzesiek with care wiped the frothed milk from Szczęsny’s upper lip.

“Are they serious?” asked Piątek sitting one table further and gaping at the pair of players as if he saw them for the first time. His own breakfast was getting cold, forgotten on the plate.

“Yesterday I thought it all a sham, but I’m not so sure anymore,” answered Lewandowski thoughtfully.

“Bereś, have you really saw something?”

Bereś at the moment was the only one of the team that paid closer attention to his food than to the other two. With full mouth, he muttered an answer that sounded like “dunwannatalkofit”. Not getting anything more from him, the rest of the players returned to conjecturing, while Krychowiak and Szczęsny were peering into one another’s eyes as if in a staring contest.

“They always were close…”

“Not to this extent. Well, actually, to this extent, but without so many subtexts.”

“Surely they bet something again and you morons fall for it.”

“How could one make such a fool out of himself for any bet?”

“As if they needed a bet for that. They always act like fools.”

**

“You know, Wojtuś, I’ve been thinking that we should end this sketch show.”

“I haven’t expected such a mature decision from you, Grzesiu. After so long time together you still surprise me.”

“Heh, I’m serious, you nutter. The guys became really winded up. It needs to stop before someone adds some photo with description on their social media. Don’t know about you but I don’t want to explain this to my girlfriend.”

“Okay, undo it.”

“Me? Why me?”

“Because you started this.”

**

Before the next training session, Krychowiak took the stand in the dressing room.

“Gentlemen, we would like to announce something to you,” he began.

“Oh, fuck, no,” spoke up someone from the crowd, “you're getting married?”

“As you all know,” Krycha continued, undaunted, “I love Wojtek, but together we’ve reached a conclusion, although it was not an easy decision, that we must break up. Our relationship would not survive at long distance. Because, as it is known, in the relationship, in the romantic relationship, what matters are not only Platonic feelings, but also-”

Szczęsny stifled his mouth with a goalkeeper’s glove.

“Let me just remind all of the gathered that I have a wife.”

Krycha freed himself from the makeshift muzzle.

“-and not all can abide such asceticism as our dear goalie,” Grzesiek finished triumphantly.

Laughs mingled with an applause and catcalls erupted in answer to his speech. Someone even called ‘Krychowiak for a captain’ for which Lewy shot him a murderous stare.

**Author's Note:**

> In the end, there weren't as many slang words as curses. It was a bit irritating when for three basic swears used here, i. e. 'kurwa' and various declinations of 'pierdolę' and 'jebię', the English equivalent semed to be 'fuck' or some censored word, e. g.:  
> przyjebać - to punch  
> zajebać - to steal
> 
> Ah, I guess I know too few English curses. They didn't teach me at school the truly useful stuff! ;)
> 
> *The saying concerning French rhymes in Polish version ("Jak mówią Francuzi, co stoi, to do buzi") and it is originally about a drink standing on the table that shall be drunk, I think. But it certainly brings to mind other associations concerning erect things and the use of mouth 😊


End file.
